01-21-2023, 10:28 PM
[[continued from here]]
The dulcet tones of strings. The delicate clink of champagne glasses. The murmurings of genteel conversation. Natalie drifted without attaching herself too long to any single company. Zhenya secured her the invitation; there were a lot of important people here tonight, and there was only so much to be learned about the play of Moscow's powers from behind a screen. No one had quite seemed to know who she was, at least until the low buzz of Edward’s granddaughter had circulated, and then the axis of the room changed to include the new piece on the board. Which of the Northbrook sisters is it became the next silent question, but Natalie was content to allow the mystery to percolate. She wanted her name on their lips. She wanted them to claim the victory of discovery.
During the Kremlin’s fundraiser ball she’d still been fighting the tides of grief and horror. Her presence there had been like walking bare feet on glass, a fragile and painful balance, for the exquisite luxury of Moscow’s elite had clashed harshly with her raw memories of Africa. Before that, her mother had occasionally strong-armed her into attending charity events, but those had usually been lubricated with enough alcohol to ensure she did not ask often for Natalie’s company. Whatever duties were instilled in her Northbrook blood, she had spent a lifetime rebelling against the mould they made for her. Tonight was the first time it had ever been a choice.
Smiling was easy, as was charm. If sarcasm cut the sweetness sometimes, few were more than passing perplexed at the way she did it. Probably her appearance helped smooth the errant sharpness of her tongue on those occasions; the cascade of light-gold curls over one shoulder, the smokey haze rimmed around pale eyes. Zhenya, with much sisterly delight for the task, had arranged the dress and jewellery; Natalie had had little need of such finery in Sierra Leone, and the things she had even brought with her to Moscow were minimal. Ethereal, Zhenya had declared. Natalie had only rolled her eyes. But it served a purpose.
She planted gentle seeds among them as she circulated. Spoke equanimously of her time in Africa and what she had been doing there these years; the children she had taught and championed, and the girls of the refuge before that. The foundations laid neatly. If there was much of lingering shadow in Natalie’s past, it was easily outshone in deed – and she knew how to spin a tale to her advantage. The aptitude she discovered for it surprised even her.
Yet by the time the hall was called to find their seats, Natalie was passing bored of the company. She wasn’t drinking tonight. Or not much. Purpose armed her to the goal she had made for herself, but it was a sightless one. The future seemed hazy; something to push towards a step at a time and perhaps never truly reach, let alone enjoy. Even at this first step she realised it would be a task of toleration for her. The public stage drained her behind her carefully demure mask. But though she’d scorn the monotony, she’d also endure it.
Pure chance felt the alert of her wallet vibrate in her purse. A glance at the name pulled her back against the tide in surprise. People drifted past her shoulders as they streamed towards the tables. She was aware that Zhenya, resplendent in deep green tonight, paused her stride to wait. He couldn’t still be drunk, could he? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, but it had been more than twenty-four hours since those last inebriated messages had finally petered themselves out. Distracted, she touched Zhenya’s arm and excused herself to the bathroom. The woman’s dark gaze was both curious and thoughtful as she watched Natalie leave, but she didn’t follow.
It was blissfully quiet in the bathroom. Even if it was for the benefit of scrolling more ramblings, she’d probably needed the respite. A breath, a moment. The wallet lingered in her palm a while before she opened and read the message. Expectation did not hold so high a value; it was why she hesitated. As such the apology made her blink in a soft sort of confusion. Of all the things she might have wanted an apology for, the insight into his grief was not one of them.
I hadn’t noticed. You were so subtle? Whether waffles or pancakes are the superior breakfast choice is an interesting conundrum though. I had no idea you were such a keen philosopher.
The rest she hovered over a moment longer. It wasn’t the phrasing, though it touched a sharp morbidity to her lips. Not that it was funny so much as it was just fucking dark. Instead she paused for the way it fluttered in her chest like a hand held palm-out in honest entreaty. A dangerous temptation; she could almost feel it pull like the beckoning ocean breeze she’d promised him one day. Escape called to her soul like not much else. Though maybe it made a difference who was asking.
She ought not to leave. Zhenya would wonder at her absence if no one else. Connections so newly forged needed to be nurtured carefully, and there was a great deal of work to do.
The pancake place is closed for at least another 8 hours, she told him
Then, finally:
So I’ll meet you here instead.
The dulcet tones of strings. The delicate clink of champagne glasses. The murmurings of genteel conversation. Natalie drifted without attaching herself too long to any single company. Zhenya secured her the invitation; there were a lot of important people here tonight, and there was only so much to be learned about the play of Moscow's powers from behind a screen. No one had quite seemed to know who she was, at least until the low buzz of Edward’s granddaughter had circulated, and then the axis of the room changed to include the new piece on the board. Which of the Northbrook sisters is it became the next silent question, but Natalie was content to allow the mystery to percolate. She wanted her name on their lips. She wanted them to claim the victory of discovery.
During the Kremlin’s fundraiser ball she’d still been fighting the tides of grief and horror. Her presence there had been like walking bare feet on glass, a fragile and painful balance, for the exquisite luxury of Moscow’s elite had clashed harshly with her raw memories of Africa. Before that, her mother had occasionally strong-armed her into attending charity events, but those had usually been lubricated with enough alcohol to ensure she did not ask often for Natalie’s company. Whatever duties were instilled in her Northbrook blood, she had spent a lifetime rebelling against the mould they made for her. Tonight was the first time it had ever been a choice.
Smiling was easy, as was charm. If sarcasm cut the sweetness sometimes, few were more than passing perplexed at the way she did it. Probably her appearance helped smooth the errant sharpness of her tongue on those occasions; the cascade of light-gold curls over one shoulder, the smokey haze rimmed around pale eyes. Zhenya, with much sisterly delight for the task, had arranged the dress and jewellery; Natalie had had little need of such finery in Sierra Leone, and the things she had even brought with her to Moscow were minimal. Ethereal, Zhenya had declared. Natalie had only rolled her eyes. But it served a purpose.
She planted gentle seeds among them as she circulated. Spoke equanimously of her time in Africa and what she had been doing there these years; the children she had taught and championed, and the girls of the refuge before that. The foundations laid neatly. If there was much of lingering shadow in Natalie’s past, it was easily outshone in deed – and she knew how to spin a tale to her advantage. The aptitude she discovered for it surprised even her.
Yet by the time the hall was called to find their seats, Natalie was passing bored of the company. She wasn’t drinking tonight. Or not much. Purpose armed her to the goal she had made for herself, but it was a sightless one. The future seemed hazy; something to push towards a step at a time and perhaps never truly reach, let alone enjoy. Even at this first step she realised it would be a task of toleration for her. The public stage drained her behind her carefully demure mask. But though she’d scorn the monotony, she’d also endure it.
Pure chance felt the alert of her wallet vibrate in her purse. A glance at the name pulled her back against the tide in surprise. People drifted past her shoulders as they streamed towards the tables. She was aware that Zhenya, resplendent in deep green tonight, paused her stride to wait. He couldn’t still be drunk, could he? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, but it had been more than twenty-four hours since those last inebriated messages had finally petered themselves out. Distracted, she touched Zhenya’s arm and excused herself to the bathroom. The woman’s dark gaze was both curious and thoughtful as she watched Natalie leave, but she didn’t follow.
It was blissfully quiet in the bathroom. Even if it was for the benefit of scrolling more ramblings, she’d probably needed the respite. A breath, a moment. The wallet lingered in her palm a while before she opened and read the message. Expectation did not hold so high a value; it was why she hesitated. As such the apology made her blink in a soft sort of confusion. Of all the things she might have wanted an apology for, the insight into his grief was not one of them.
I hadn’t noticed. You were so subtle? Whether waffles or pancakes are the superior breakfast choice is an interesting conundrum though. I had no idea you were such a keen philosopher.
The rest she hovered over a moment longer. It wasn’t the phrasing, though it touched a sharp morbidity to her lips. Not that it was funny so much as it was just fucking dark. Instead she paused for the way it fluttered in her chest like a hand held palm-out in honest entreaty. A dangerous temptation; she could almost feel it pull like the beckoning ocean breeze she’d promised him one day. Escape called to her soul like not much else. Though maybe it made a difference who was asking.
She ought not to leave. Zhenya would wonder at her absence if no one else. Connections so newly forged needed to be nurtured carefully, and there was a great deal of work to do.
The pancake place is closed for at least another 8 hours, she told him
Then, finally:
So I’ll meet you here instead.